In The End
by define-serenity
Summary: Kurt/Blaine. It's one excuse too many. After Kurt cancels his plans with Blaine to help out Rachel, Blaine realizes something needs to change in their relationship. 4x04 - The Break Up. oneshot. COMPLETE.


**disclaimer:** without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

**author's notes:** this is not an explanation or a fix-it story for _The Break Up_. this is another _kind_ of break up, one i needed to get rid of some of my own anger over how the writers fubar-ed Blaine (imo). special thanks to my beta **Inwenalas**.

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**In The End;;**

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It's one excuse too many.

One in a long line of many yet to come, he has no doubt, but this one, right now, after all the promises and reassurances that _yes, Blaine, of course I'm coming over, I know how much this means to you_, and the rushed texts that read _love you_ and _courage_—

No, this is one excuse too many.

He glances from his webcam to the picture of Kurt on his computer screen. "Kurt, you promised."

"I know, sweetie," Kurt says, his eyes only focused on the computer screen, "but Rachel needs my help with this number."

Something in his chest deflates, his hope of actually getting to touch Kurt again maybe, but with it comes the sharp sting of anger. "Rachel can handle herself, Kurt," he blurts out, some rare force speaking for him. "Just like you can—when have you ever asked her for help?"

He watches how Kurt blinks at the screen, eyes widening in surprise. "Blaine—"

"No, I've been planning this for weeks," he interrupts, because the _Blaine_-of-it-all holds the expectation of his silence, _and why_? Why shouldn't he get to express his frustration? He's not beyond feeling this, despite what Kurt seems to think of him—he can't be silent forever. Kurt's supposed to be here for Halloween, it's their favorite holiday and he'd already picked up their outfits, got Sugar and Unique to plan a big party with him at Breadstix. All for _Kurt_. All for his _boyfriend_.

But no, New York needs Kurt again, Rachel needs him again, and he loves Rachel, but even she has to realize how little time Kurt's spending on him. Surely she must see it, right?

"I understand that this is important to you," Kurt says, and it sounds like a line Ms Pillsbury might suggest in one of her couples counseling sessions. "But Rachel's my friend."

There's a 'but' attached to all of Kurt's excuses now, as if that makes it okay, as if that's meant to justify his absence. Kurt has an explanation for everything and Blaine is constantly the one apologizing for his lack of eloquence.

"And I'm your boyfriend," he says, staring down at his keyboard. "I matter too, Kurt," —he looks up and watches Rachel cross the room behind Kurt— "even if that's hard for you to understand when you're on the other side of the country."

"Blaine, I love you," Kurt's answer comes so fast that he wonders if he's catching his meaning at all. It's not Kurt's love he's questioning, but he's sick and tired of being taken for granted. He doesn't know why he never tells Kurt that. "You matter more to me than anything."

He looks at Kurt's picture and feels a longing pull at him that's growing every day, that's hurting more every day—more than longing it's an absence, something Kurt took with him along with his love and caring and friendship. What does he have here to make up for that? He's tried to shut it out and fill it up at the same time, joining every club at school that would take him, running for Senior Class President, trying to be complete here and now. But it's hard to balance out an absence when the other side of the scale is all the way in New York City and thinks all he needs to do to keep them going is throw assurances at him.

"Then prove it," he says and disconnects the call without giving it a second thought.

He takes a deep breath, his index finger lingering on the touchpad. What did he just do? He let his anger get the best of him, but maybe it's about time he did. Maybe that way he'll be able to swallow around this lump in his throat, hold down the temptation of tears once and for all and get on with his life.

But all he feels is regret, pushing at him to apologize for his outburst.

He moves the cursor to the dial button three times, biting his lip in contemplation. He can't let it linger there like this, can he? His 'prove it' somewhere out there in the ether, all grave and lonely and serious. He knows it's his pride that pulls him back, whispering low in his ear that it's Kurt's turn to make a move.

It's been like this for two months and he tried giving Kurt time, because maybe he only needed to adjust to his new surroundings, get to know New York and the rhythm of the city, reacquaint himself with _Kurt_ before he could be his Kurt again.

But two months later Kurt's _had_ time; he talks about local drug dealers as if he's known them his entire life, he knows the ebb and flow of the big city, the smell and sounds—but not once during any of their conversations does Kurt notice how he's the one doing all the talking and his words have become nothing but affirmations.

And he thinks Kurt must know by now—after a year, after Sebastian and Chandler and Whitney week—Kurt has to know him better than this.

He doesn't talk about his pain, that's not how he is. He bottles things up and puts the needs of his loved ones before his own. It's a behavior instilled in him despite his own love for the stage, despite _his _need to be in the spotlight. It started with Cooper, his big brother, who he admired so much that his needs came first, he was the star and he had the bright future and even though Blaine now knows he's a star too, he's only ever talked about his _boyfriend's_ bright future. He's a senior in high school, captain of the Glee club, _Senior_ _Class President_ and his whole life here exists only in relation to Kurt.

Because he came here for Kurt. Not for himself.

But what about Blaine Anderson?

It's the same thought that keeps him from dialing back three times and when on his fourth attempt it's Kurt who calls (_20 minutes_, _Kurt_, _it took you twenty minutes to decide I'm worth your time_?) he wonders why he hasn't done this before. Maybe his radio silence will convince Kurt that something needs to be fixed, that something needs to change or all they will end up with is resentment and an ugly break-up.

Because what about Blaine Anderson?

What is _his _bright future? He told Kurt once they'd live together in New York and he still wants that more than anything. He wants to be with Kurt every minute of every day, pick the colors for the walls and argue over what size bed to get (he likes smaller beds because they're more conducive to cuddling, Kurt likes bigger beds because, well, he doesn't lie still), check out second-hand stores because they can't afford anything more expensive, cram everything into their tiny apartment and just—_be together_.

But can he take another ten months of this, of not being seen or heard or considered? Without being—_missed_? It's a stray thought somewhere between his need to be noticed and his indignation, but it's there nonetheless and it's been festering at the back of his mind for _months_. Kurt doesn't miss him like he does. And it's not the distance or the lack of physical contact, it's the feeling of Kurt missing, gone, vanished, because Kurt's pulling towards a new and exciting life he can't be a part of yet.

His cellphone starts vibrating on the bed, lighting up with Kurt's picture—he stares at it until it goes to voicemail, keeps staring at it while the little phone in the bottom left corner counts up to _one_, _two_, _three_, _four _missed calls—

And then there's only silence.

He can see Kurt make the decision, sighing or maybe rolling his eyes, because he's never right. Blaine's the one apologizing time and time again and for what? He didn't provoke Sebastian and he certainly didn't give him any reason to keep flirting. Yet he'd apologized, he'd told Kurt sorry for texting Sebastian or wanting to be his friend. He'd said sorry for the Whitney song or questioning Kurt's texts to Chandler, and now—now he's about to apologize for keeping his boyfriend to his promises?

He shakes his head and buries his face in his hands. He can't talk to Kurt now, he doesn't want to get angry or say things he'll regret. He doesn't doubt his love for Kurt, that was there all at once one fall afternoon and it's been there ever since. But they can't keep going like this. Kurt has to realize there are people he left behind whose worlds haven't stopped turning; his stories will always be more exciting than _Jake broke up with Kitty_, or _Sam wants to be the Cyclops to my Wolverine_ (which was kind of weird because they're two superheroes who can't actually stand each other) or—_no!_ he got elected Senior Class President and he damn well has the right to talk about that the way Kurt talks about working for Isabelle Wright.

He surprises himself when he doesn't take Kurt's call for the entire day after, not in the morning, not during lunch, he doesn't even answer the texts Rachel sends during Glee rehearsal to apologize for hogging up his boyfriend. It's good for him, to give the anger free reign for a while, let it rampage through him like a firestorm, rather than suppress it and let it poison him slowly.

He heads for the gym right after Mr Schue releases them. He tapes his knuckles tight enough not to make it hurt and works out his frustration on a punching bag for a while, letting his mind wander to every would-be scenario he's ever concocted: he thinks about his loneliness here at McKinley even when Kurt was still here; his initial attraction to Sebastian; fights off his bullies the way he never really did; tells Finn and Rachel they're making a mistake getting married so soon; confronts Chandler about flirting with his boyfriend—

—and then he starts on Kurt.

_Blaine, I love you_. (Easy for you to say, _Kurt_, now that you realize I'm sad, angry, _disappointed_. But I never get to say it, you don't even let me _finish_ anymore!)

His gloved fist connects with the black leather, hard hit reverberating through his arm, to his shoulder, inside his chest where his heart races faster and faster.

_You matter more to me than anything_. (Not _true_! _Rachel_ comes first, _Isabelle_ comes first, Vogue and NYADA, but what about _me_, Kurt? How come I only matter when I'm hurting, when I _tell you_ that I'm struggling? How can you not _see _how this is killing me?)

He wipes at his face with his sleeve, tears catching in the fabric of his sweatshirt. There's no room for crying, he won't surrender to that, he won't let his despair break him down to a pathetic sobbing heap. He did that once, when his body was broken and bruised and his parents decided Dalton was the only solution for him. Dalton was his salvation, and part of him wants to let it be again, but a zero-tolerance policy isn't a cure for loneliness. And how can he go back there after—he takes a step back, draws in a deep breath, the word 'abandoned' placed squarely on top of his shoulders.

(_Then prove it_.) He doesn't know what he expects from Kurt, or how this absence crowding him can be cured. There's something wrong with him that runs deeper, that started when he left Dalton and thought he'd make it at a school that was exactly the same as his old one, same bullies with different faces, but he was different now, stronger. And he had Kurt.

"Hey, man," Sam's voice sounds from behind him. He waits for Sam to come to him rather than turn around. "Are you okay?"

(_No._) But he doesn't think Sam would ask if he didn't already know the answer.

"Yeah, sure—!" he lashes out _once_, "why—!" _twice_, "wouldn't—!" _three times_, "I be!" _four_.

"I don't know." Sam shrugs. "You usually don't go at it like this so hard."

He takes a step back. (_You're wrong_)he's done this before, even right after Sam came back to McKinley and Finn kept shooting down his every suggestion for Sectionals. Come to think, he felt alone through that as well, but he needed to prove to himself that he could get into the swing of things without constantly having to run to his boyfriend. It was easier somehow, back then, when he could pretend that the punching bag was Sam's face or Finn's, because now—now it's his own.

And every fist is a gut shot that makes him realize that somewhere along the way he must have left his dignity behind, maybe at Dalton. Maybe he'd find it huddled in a corner there, rocking back and forth, twisting dark curls around its fingers over and over again. He would only recognize it on closer inspection, because when he really thinks about it he must have lost it somewhere close to a year ago, between meeting Kurt and transferring to McKinley.

"Yeah, I—" He shakes his head, reluctant to let his thoughts turn even darker. Being with Kurt's been good for him too. He should feel lucky he found someone so gentle and caring, even if it doesn't feel like that right now. "I can't—" (_I feel alone_) "I don't want to talk about it."

"Talk to someone." Sam urges. "Talk to Kurt."

If he didn't know any better he'd describe the feeling that runs through him as his heart dropping to his stomach. (_I can't talk to my boyfriend, Sam_, _that's what I've been trying to say_)—he could say it, probably should say it, but he just repositions himself behind the punching bag.

"Have fun with Brittany tonight, Sam," he says, hears Sam sigh as if his answer was expected (_then try _harder_, Sam_!) and back away without another word, leaving him behind in an empty locker room, alone with his thoughts, alone with his worries, leaving him to overanalyze the details of every single one of his conversations with Kurt.

_Yeah, Blaine, I was really lucky to be chased out of high school by a bully who threatened to kill me._

(_Of course_, Karofsky threatened you and manhandled you into a few lockers. I was beaten within an inch of my life, _Kurt_. So was my _date_! You have a father who accepts you for who you are. You have friends who would turn their backs on me without giving it a second _thought_!)

"You think _you _had it hard?" he'd say, the way he mentally argued with his father or Cooper or anyone else he was reluctant to stand up to—mostly because he loved them so much, and at the end of the day taking criticism is far easier than spewing it.

"You can't compare—" a fake Kurt pops up out of nowhere, defending himself the way the real Kurt would.

He keeps the conversation going because he has to, because it's not real and so it's easier. His imaginary self can do this, let off some of the anger, scream and shout and kick, _hit_ the rage right out of him. "No, you can't compare, Kurt," he says. "My pain isn't your pain." And after finding Kurt it didn't matter, he'd found who he was and he was sure and the ground beneath his feet felt slightly more solid than it did before. Especially when he was with Kurt.

"So I never said a word," he says. "But don't pretend that your commitment is mine."

Kurt: "What?"

"I made room for you in my life the moment I realized I had feelings for you," he says, remembering the Warbler meeting as if it was yesterday, their first kiss, their _second_ kiss, Candles by Hey Monday— "I changed my entire life, gave you so much but I can't keep giving, Kurt."

How hard can it be to listen to his 'I love you', to disconnect a call three seconds later, to listen for a few minutes instead of talk, to _listen_ instead of hearing?

He's only asking for a little reciprocation.

"And I love you," he says, because that's a certainty so clear in his mind and not up for discussion. But he can't keep effacing himself in this relationship. He thinks it really took him too long to realize that. Is it too late to expect it now?

"I love you so much, Kurt, but I don't know-"

Does he still know why? Can he look back on that first kiss and feel the same with everything he knows now? Kurt loved him _first_, told him so in so many words, so why's he the one letting go? This feeling stabbing at him is real; Kurt takes him for granted. Does Kurt expect him to wait and hold his breath for the next ten months?

"Please," he begs, because Kurt has fallen silent. "Say something."

Kurt raises his head and nods. He recognizes that reaction. That's Kurt's pride rearing its ugly head. "If that's really how you feel..." Kurt shrugs.

"No, you don't get to do that," he says. "Don't put this on me. Talk to me. Yell at me. Anything!"

He hits the punching bag at the wrong angle, the leather gives, a screech and next thing he knows he's face-planted down on the floor of the locker room. He turns on his back, chest heaving as he struggles for air, but he doesn't move again.

Because he knows Kurt's answer.

"You're right," Kurt says. "About everything." Defeated. Kurt leaves him behind defeated. "I have gained so many things these past years. I found friends and a dream. And I found you."

He smiles, because no matter what happens he found a part of himself with Kurt, a part that will stay with him forever because it's who he is and who he wants to be. But he's been losing another part of himself he now knows he's not willing to sacrifice.

"And now it's all going."

"Kurt—"

But this time Kurt doesn't stop, because the _Kurt_-of-it-all means he should tone it down, to not be overly dramatic and why should Kurt ever change anything for anyone?

"I lost the school musical. I lost NYADA," Kurt says. "And now I'm losing my boyfriend."

"You don't need me to be a star, Kurt," he says, shakes his head, a searing hot flash of pain inching across his chest. But he'll always grant Kurt this; he'd give him the world if he could. "You were a star long before we met."

The cold hard truth of the matter hits him while he's lying down on the floor in a boys' locker room.

Kurt doesn't need him like he needs him.

After that day he swears to himself he'll talk to Kurt when he visits him in two weeks, vows that he'll only take some of Kurt's calls, smile and nod and shower him with affirmation when warranted, all in preparation for a conversation him and Kurt need to have.

That's what he tells himself.

But what really happens is this:

He apologizes.

He takes only one of Kurt's calls and immediately chucks his outburst up to tiredness and frustration, to missing Kurt's voice and his kiss and his body—he's barely breathing but he's good at this, effacing himself in his relationships, being taken for granted, _needing_ without being needed.

And they're okay for a while again; he goes to school and does his homework, listens to Kurt's great adventures in New York, argues with Sam over which one of them is Wolverine (obviously it's him, he decides later, he has way more anger in him than Sam), argues with Mr Schue that Grease is actually a story about a girl who changes everything about herself to get a guy—

And then comes the day where it all comes crashing back to him.

"Hey, killer," that all too familiar voice sounds from behind him at the mall, and he really wishes he hadn't just started looking through a rack of bowties. "Looking to supplement your collection?"

He turns and stares up into two bright green eyes, unable to help the smile that crosses his lips. "I was returning something."

"And you felt yourself magnetically drawn to the bowtie section," Sebastian supplies. "Of course."

He huffs a laugh, and looks up at the tall Warbler. Sebastian could be his way back into Dalton, he catches himself thinking, because the emptiness persists, started pounding at him from every angle and the only time he can remember it wasn't there was at Dalton—even the uniforms provided a sense of unity there.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, because this doesn't seem like Sebastian's usual haunt.

Sebastian turns his head and looks back over his shoulder, at one of the sales boys working the floor.

"I see," Blaine says, and averts his eyes. He wonders if Sebastian's ever felt lonely, or if the guys he pursues so relentlessly are a way of filling up the emptiness. He wonders if that works.

"You okay, killer?" Sebastian's voice shakes him back to reality. "You don't seem your peppy self."

"I'm fine," he almost stutters.

"You are a terrible liar, Blaine Anderson," Sebastian says while flashing that teeth-filled smile. But then his eyes grow serious. "Come on, what's wrong?"

(_Everything._)

"Nothing." He frowns to himself. Sebastian shouldn't be able to tell this about him. "I'm fine."

Only that's a lie, that's such a blatantly huge lie it almost swallows him whole right there and then. He'd been a fool to think it wouldn't pop up again, to think that others wouldn't see. But if Sebastian can tell after months of silence between them—then what is he doing? He's deluding himself if he thinks him and Kurt won't go through this again, that the distance won't come back to haunt him, the emptiness and loneliness, the utter _alone_-ness he fears he carries with him now.

It's ironic that of all the people in his life that can actually tell something's wrong (only Sam and his mom, really) Sebastian's the only one who's _asked him_. And he knows what's wrong: there are only three people in his life right now that can see he's struggling and he thinks it should be more. At the very least Kurt should be one of them.

But Kurt's too busy living his exciting Blaine-free existence to notice.

He hates how resentful he's started to sound, how his usual calm and his—as Sebastian so delicately put it—pep are constantly interrupted by a void he shouldn't be able to see, but it's started to fan out around him and he swears it's keeping people at bay. Sam keeps pulling towards Brittany and Marley's still googly eyes for Jake—that only really leaves Sebastian and he doesn't think Kurt would forgive him for that a second time.

There's only one thing he knows he has to do. He has to see Kurt. Now.

And so he goes to New York a full week ahead of schedule. He feels kind of giddy at first, because he'll _see Kurt_ and he'll be able to touch him and there's a selfish hope growing that seeing Kurt will fix all his problems, wash away the doubt, reaffirm his need for this relationship and maybe, just maybe, give him the answer he's so desperately looking for—Where do they go from here?

Because alongside that hope a fear has nestled, that the only way to make them work is for him to continue on like this, missing, needing, crying. And no, he can't do that anymore.

In the end, seeing Kurt only confirms his greatest fears. There's Rachel and Brody and Isabelle and some bar called Callbacks, there's _Kurt and Rachel's_ gorgeous loft with a bed that's entirely too big for Kurt alone, there's a tourist feel to his visit while he wants it to be like home, he wants it to feel like it did before. He wants Kurt to feel like home.

But he's not sure what home is anymore. It's not New York. And it's not Kurt either.

"Are you going to keep pretending nothing's wrong?" Kurt asks when they're settling down in his room for the night, his singsong voice sounding so cavalier about it. He's not pretending, he's trying to figure out what to do, whether to break his own heart or both their hearts. "Talk to me, Blaine." Kurt stands up to face him. "Why are you really here?"

He doesn't look at Kurt at first, he thinks his blue eyes might throw all his intentions overboard and it's the pain in his chest he should be focused on. He can't have that grow, he won't start hating Kurt for leaving him behind—this is the best thing for both of them. But he looks up anyway, finds Kurt's eyes through his tear-filled ones and comes out and says it: "I think—maybe we should take a break."

Kurt: "What?"

And Kurt looks at him as if he didn't see this coming at all, as if it's totally out of left field, as if everything's been honkey-dory between them. And strangely enough, that's what keeps him going. Because if Kurt hasn't realized then he should say it, that he's unhappy, that Kurt's never there even when they're talking, that Kurt's not even really here right now, or at the very least fails to account for his presence in his glamorous New York life.

"You have this whole new life here, Kurt, and there's no room in it for me," he says, heart breaking as he speaks the words, but if he doesn't say it now he might never. "I can't sit at home or be in school wondering whether or not you'll answer the next call or when you'll be online."

There's tears in Kurt's eyes and he hates that he's the one putting them there, but his unshed tears over his loneliness have been plaguing him for much longer. "I love you, but I miss you too much to—"

He'll never be like Sebastian, he can't think of a single person who could fill up the emptiness the way that Kurt could, but he needs to start an attempt at getting to that point. If Kurt won't give him the light of day then maybe—He's not looking for another boyfriend, but he can't keep holding onto one who's only there when he can be bothered to, one whose life has taken on a completely different direction.

"You're breaking up with me?" Kurt's voice sounds small.

He stares down at Kurt's feet, not that it makes saying this any easier. "It doesn't have to be permanent." His voice breaks, and he wants so badly to reach out and throw his arms around Kurt, _beg_ him to need him, but he's finally decided he needs to go for the short pain. They can't be this now, they can't be together. "You need to figure out a life here, Kurt, and you can't do that—" He swallows hard. "You can't do that with me dragging behind."

He shrugs. He doesn't know what prompts his next confession.

"And I need to figure out who I am without you."

That's the truth of the matter, what's really wrong, the deeper symptom in this whirlpool of confusion. He's structured his life around Kurt, made Kurt the center of his world while he should be his own center. He can't expect someone else to give his life meaning.

"I can't believe this." Kurt shakes his head, disbelieving. "I thought we were doing okay."

"No, Kurt, _you_'ve been okay. I've been—"

(_Drifting_. _Alone_. _Lost_.) And for the first time in a long time, that's exactly what he tells Kurt.

"I'm lost," he says. "I'm alone, at school, in Glee club, at home. And when you left I finally realized that maybe it's my time now. It's time to figure out what I want."

Tears start trailing down Kurt's cheeks and he wants to kiss every single one of them, kiss Kurt everywhere, hold him close and tell him that this is enough, that they can make it through the next ten months without one of them starting to resent the other. But that would be a lie too.

"And you don't want me?" Kurt asks.

"I do, Kurt." The confession comes as easy to him as his love for Kurt. "With all my heart, I do. But not like this," he chokes out. "It's your time here in New York. You don't need me to be a star."

Kurt clasps a hand over his mouth, shakes his head again, sobs and he reaches for Kurt instinctually. He's surprised when Kurt doesn't pull back, doesn't run like Blaine figured he would, like he probably _would have_ had they broken up for any other reason. Only now Kurt lets him rub his shoulders, pull him in for a hug that breaks his heart all over again, lets him hold onto the boy he fell in love with all at once one fall afternoon at Dalton.

"I'm really sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry," he whispers to Kurt all night, as they're lying on top of his bed and Kurt's trembling in his arms, one final night together before he starts rearranging his life around himself instead of Kurt.

He's apologizing again, but for the first time since they started dating he thinks he's doing it for the right reasons. Kurt's pain right now isn't his pain, not entirely anyway, Kurt's having something ripped away and he's letting go, so he's okay saying it.

Kurt sobs into his chest. He runs a hand down Kurt's back. "I'm so sorry," he whispers.

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**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


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